“Until to-morrow at this hour,” replied Brigot.
As Cartwright was going, a man tapped at the door. It was Brigot’s “secretary,” who was also his valet. He handed a telegram to the Spaniard, and Brigot opened and read. He was a long time digesting its contents, and Cartwright waited for a favourable opportunity to say good-bye. All the time his mind was working, and he thought he saw daylight. Two-thirds of the money could be raised, and he could breathe again.
Presently Brigot folded up the telegram and put it in his pocket, and there was on his face a beatific smile.
“Good night, Señor Brigot,” said Cartwright. “I will see you to-morrow with the money.”
“It will have to be big money, my friend,” said Brigot, and there was a note of exultation in his voice. “To buy my little property will cost you half a million English pounds.”
Cartwright gasped.
“What do you mean?” he demanded quickly.
“Do you know Solomon Brothers, the financiers of London?”
“I know them very well,” replied Cartwright steadily. He had good reason to know Solomon Brothers, who had taken a large block of shares in his new syndicate.
“I have just had a telegram from Solomon Brothers,” said Señor Brigot, speaking slowly, “and they ask me to give them the date when my property was transferred to your syndicate. They tell me it is included in your properties which you have floated. You know best, Mr. Cartwright, whether my little mine is worth half a million English pounds to you—especially if I put a date agreeable to you.”